I can hear wind chimes singing at the neighbors and they’re destroying me. I want to sit under them in the wind on a porch, a book in hand. I want to not have to worry about the peril of the end of things. I want to be able to spend three days like that, reading that book, slowly, writing down doodles that are just signifiers to sort my thoughts. I want to carve a little statue, to say hi to a friend and ask them to sit down.
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